


Scars are promises

by ButTheMarauders



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional, Gen, Scars, three stories in one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 05:15:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4906879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButTheMarauders/pseuds/ButTheMarauders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My three favourite characters, and how they got their  scars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars are promises

Scars, to Remus Lupin, are the promises of eternal suffering, the promises of pain endured and the never ending cycle that is torture. Remus got his scars once a month, when the full moon was a perfect spherical halo of ice against the black canvas of the night. If was these nights where Remus' bones and cartilage would morph and change, crack and grow, sending spasms of pain throughout his scarred body and causing him to yell out and howl. That was how the Shrieking Shack got it's name and rumour, but to Remus, the Shack was just a part of his Hell that he had to make it through. Though most the time, his animagi friends would prevent much damage, the lunar monster would tear at it's own flesh and attempt to break free, meaning the sickly boy would awake with gashes and bruises. He would sleep most the day and take his friends' poor, sloppy notes. Normally, he was the ome supplying them. But his scars would never fade, nor would they ever stop coming. Because no matter what you do, pain will always exist in the world, and Remus knew that. His scars were that promise. Always prominent, always inducing pain and fear.

Scars, to Luna Lovegood, were the promise of buried pasts and the promise that she was still human. Luna got her scars years ago, shortly after the death of her beautiful mother, who didn't deserve to die. The young, dirty blonde girl would chase the nargles and faeries through the forest, determined to get her mother back from them. Her small bare feet would blister and cut on stones, and tears and thorns would tear at her limbs. It seemed, to Luna, like nature had swallowed her mother away and refused to give them back to her. But she always knew it was the nargles. They always took Luna's things. Her hair was coated with mud, and twigs and leaves were tangled in the knots of masses of blonde hair. Dirt and blood was caked beneah her toe and finger nails. Her eyes, once so innocent, were full of wisdom, yet also an odd vividness that implied a desperation to cling onto morale. The scars, also, were a promise of that. Because as long as they marked her pale skin, the longer Luna would remember the morality of the search for her mother, and as would anyone else. Her scars were that promise. Always hopeful, always fading but never truly disapeering.

Scars, to Nymphadora Tonks, were the promise of improvement and the end of darkness. Dora got her scars from herself. She would cut her own flesh, and blood would drip against white, contaminating at, taking away it's purity, like her family seemed to plan for herself. Her parents, though less obsessed with the Dark Arts and he-who-shall-not-be-named, had always had issues with Tonks. She had been loud and bubbly, where her parents were mysterious and luring. She had been pure and happy, whilst her parents suffered from their own minds and had to dwell on all the faces that would never been again, because of them. She was a Hufflepuff in a house if Gryffindors. Nymphadora, more importantly, was a shapeshifter. She could be near anything, if that was what she was desired. And so, her family, the Black's, apart from Sirius, would talk and complain about her decisions. And that was when she gave herself the scars, when she knew her family would never truly love her. Until, one day, she looked upon the pretty peach sunset, where the orange sun dappled the water with spots og light. It was then that Dora knew that light is a cycle, and you will always make it through the dark. The scars were a promise of that. As long as Nymphadora Tonks survived her own misery, she would improve and be happy again.  Her scars were that promise. Always getting better, always regaining strength.


End file.
